


Twenty Four Years in the Making

by whatsanapocalae



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsanapocalae/pseuds/whatsanapocalae
Summary: Just some Vergil and Nero bonding upon returning from Hell in celebration of the Special Edition news
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	Twenty Four Years in the Making

His hands were shaking. He have much time to compose himself but he desperately had to. His hair was all different shades of brown, red, and white and it hung down over his eyes. There were bags under his eyes and blood under his nails. He was starving, he'd never been so hungry before. He was exhausted, he'd never been so tired before. He was human and part of him wanted to tear that away, chew it off like a fox in a trap, but the poison of humanity had been in him for so long, he was just now letting the poison course through his veins, accepting it, letting it strangle the too fast beat of his monstrous heart, quelling it to a simple two step. 

He was in a gas station bathroom and he was covered in gore and he couldn't stop shaking and he couldn't stop smiling. He was here. He was really here. His brother was waiting for him outside, not so concerned with his appearance, waiting for the van and its occupants to arrive. They were out of Hell. They were back in the world of the living. He was going to see his son while understanding what that meant. 

He was so nervous he felt like he had to stab himself just to make more room for the anxiety. He knew Nero. He knew his smile and his drive and his love for Kyrie. He knew what kind of garage bands he liked and how he smelled and how there was anger on the end of his tattered sleeve. He knew that Nero craved strength, just as he had, but that he understood that his strength was already within him, was his heart and his relation to others, while Vergil had always searched for external power, ignoring the humanity that it came from. 

But now, slicking his hair back and washing the blood out of it with tap water, now he was facing a human being. He was whole. His humanity, mixed with his demonity, combined to make him. He knew now, what had been his weakness all along and it wasn't what he thought. He hadn't been able to protect those that he loved because he hadn't been there to. 

He wasn't going to leave them again. 

There was an annoying horn blast from the van and he knew his time was up. He pulled away from the mirror, tried to breathe, to settle himself. He looked like a completely different man now, not cracked and broken. Not thin and sickly. Not inhuman and distant. He looked line a man, an oridinary man. He was even dressed like one. He wore a white button up shirt under an intricately embroidered vest, almost black jeans over riding boots. His long gold and blue coat was gone, replaced with a navy bomber jacket that had his telltale crowned vines patterned down the arms. 

He wondered if Nero would recognize him. He knew that he wouldn't, if he'd met himself on the street. 

He stepped out of the bathroom and stood in front of the door for a moment, watching as Nero hopped out of the van to slam his fist into Dante's shoulder, watching as Dante feigned being hurt, feeling the tears well up in his eyes when Nero threw his arms around Dante's shoulders in a relieved sort of hug. 

"That your kid or his?" asked a gruff voice with a deep curling accent that made Vergil think of his time back in the far east. 

"Mine," Vergil admitted, not turning back to the shop clerk. He could see the joy in Nero's face, could see the pride in Dante's. He wanted to go out there. He wanted to be a good father. He didn't know how. Too much time had passed. 

"I have three daughters," the clerk said, plainly, "Haven't seen them in years though I send them a check when I can. I get a photo, every once in a while, but they aren't the little girls I knew anymore. My wife got herself a boyfriend, said she wanted to stay there with him instead of move everyone out here." 

Vergil didn't know what to say. He didn't know why this man was telling him this. Did he want pity? Vergil didn't know how to give that. 

"Your boy there has a good relationship with his uncle. You don't hurry it up you'll lose your chance as a dad." 

So that's what it was. He nodded, threw a hand in gratitude, and stepped out of the little shop and its amazing air conditioning, into the terrible dusty heat. He walked, with purpose, over to where Nero and Dante were catching up. Nero glanced at him in the middle of a sentence before looking at him again, his smile fading away. 

Of course. Vergil wasn't Dante. He wondered if Dante had already beaten him in this too, in being the father that Nero needed, that he wanted. 

"You really here this time?" Nero asked, reaching out and pushing on Vergil's shoulder, knocking it back slightly. 

"I'm here," Vergil replied, "You didn't think I'd stay behind in Hell, did you?" 

"I dunno, Nero shrugged, he did not move his hand, he let it wrap around Vergil's shoulder, hold him steady. "You sounded like you couldn't wait to got to Hell, leave us mortals behind." 

Vergil sucked his upper lip into his mouth, bit it with his lower teeth, before he released. "I knew I had to earn my right to come back, that I had to undo what I had done. I had to learn what I wanted." 

"And what is that?" Nero cocked his head. 

"I want what I've always wanted." He watched as Nero's eyes went wide and his eyebrows rose. He was ready for a fight, ready for anything. He couldn't predict Vergil. "I want to be loved. And protected." 

"Well shit." 

Nero moved, lunging forward, wrapping his arms around Vergil. The hold was tight, the smell of cheap "man" shampoo heavy in his nose, and he couldn't breathe. He wasn't shaking anymore. He tried to think, when was the last time he'd been hugged by anyone, and he couldn't come up with an answer. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and hugged Nero back. 

"I thought you were going to say some bullshit like power or something." Nero's voice was strained. 

"Of course I want power," Vergil chuckled, "but I found it." 

Nero pulled away from him and he didn't want that. His eyes tracked over Nero's features, looking for his own, looking for Dante's. Other than the hair they didn't look much alike but Nero did look a lot like someone that Vergil had known long ago, someone else he'd failed to protect, because he didn't know well enough to stay in place. 

"It's not killing another thousand people, is it?" 

Vergil scruffed Nero's hair, one hand finding the strands and shaking it, much to Nero's chagrin. "No, no, it's right here." He closed his eyes and leaned forward, bending over to lay his forehead against' Nero's. "I'm sorry that I lost sight of that. I thought that you would make me weak, distracted from my goals. I never understood that you were always my strength." 

This time the arms wrapped around him like they had Dante, strong and fast and needy. Nero clutched onto him. He could feel a tremble in Nero's shoulders, in his jaw from where it barely touched Vergil's shoulder. There was a definite stammer to his voice. Vergil noticed, a little late, that Nero was crying, holding him so tightly back. 

"You don't know how long I've needed to hear that," Nero cried. 

"About twenty four years, I'd wager?"

"You're going to stay this time, right?" Nero asked, his hands clutching tighter. "Please tell me you're going to stay." 

Vergil kissed his scalp. He didn't want to let go. He never wanted to let go. "I'm staying. I'm staying." 

"Gay!" Nico shouted from where she was standing on the door frame to the van. 

Nero let go of him, just enough to flip her off, then he was clinging onto Vergil again. In that moment they were whole and he knew that he'd made the right choice, that he was in the right place, that every day of the last twenty four years had been a mistake, and he could start, right then, to live again, a fully human life.


End file.
